


coffee, black

by orphan_account



Category: Heart of Dust - H. L. Moore
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Spoilers, coffee shop AU, i guess, more to be added? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 03:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13895709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Gerald is suspicious of the scruffy-looking man long before he reaches the counter.





	coffee, black

**Author's Note:**

> Modern coffee shop AU? Maybe? Don’t ask me questions and you won’t be disappointed when I reply with “I don’t know”. Enjoy this scene from a modern coffee shop AU with these dorks. Maybe more to be added. Haven’t decided yet. Enjoy!

Gerald is suspicious of the scruffy-looking man long before he reaches the counter. He’s agitated, radiating with impatience, his eyes flicking left and right and up and down, bouncing on the balls of his feet, scratching at his beard, like he’s already had several large doses of caffeine this morning already and is already going through withdrawal. The person before him has barely taken their change when he pushes forward and splays his hands on the counter.

“Coffee,” the man orders. “Black. Make it quick.”

It’s always coffee, black, make it quick with people like him, as if others don’t also have places to be and people to see. It’s also just plain rude. If someone wants coffee, black, you get it from any coffee shop in Iole City. You don’t hunt down the most obscure outlet in the red prismatic zone and get lost in Methyr’s narrow alleys and demand Nathaniel Morgenstern to quickly make you a coffee, black.

Unless he’s one of those new hipster assholes who found the place on an app and just wants a coffee from _Nate’s Brewery_ for social cred points.

Gerald grabs a foam cup and a permanent marker.

“Name?”

“What?” the man says, blinking at him.

“What _name_ ,” Gerald says again, the tip of the pen poised on the cup.

The man blinks again. “What do you want my name for?”

“So you know when your coffee is ready.”

“You don’t need my name, kid, just get me the damn coffee.” He slams down a handful of coins.

Gerald writes ‘asshole’ on the cup instead and starts counting out the coins. “It’ll be ready soon, just wait over –”

“No, not soon, _now_ – it’s just black coffee, it’s not hard to make! Just get your –” The asshole looks past Gerald, behind the counter, and clicks his fingers. “Hey, you!”

Gerald stares. “Excuse me,” he says. Others in the line are staring too, now – murmuring about the man’s behaviour. “You can’t –”

The asshole ignores him. “Listen, I’m in a hurry, so –”

“I heard.”

Mr Morgenstern’s low baritone murmur quietens the asshole.

He doesn’t turn around; he finishes pouring in the milk for a vanilla chai latter instead, cleans the foaming nozzle, and wipes his hands on a towel. He holds the latte out for Gerald without looking, who passes it on to the lady who ordered it.

The asshole clears his throat. “Look,” he says, “if you could just –”

Mr Morgenstern holds up his hand, the one bound in a black strip of fabric. The asshole quietens again, and the scream of the coffee machine whistles through the shop.

“Sir,” Gerald protests when he sees what Mr Morgenstern is making, “that’s not the next order.”

Mr Morgenstern doesn’t reply. He finishes the coffee, reaches for a lid to seal the cup – which is usually Gerald’s job – and turns around to face the counter.

“Coffee,” Mr Morgenstern says, sliding the cup across the counter into the asshole’s hands. “Black.”

“Th—”

“Now get the hell out of my shop. If you return, bring some manners with you. I will not be so accommodating next time.”

The asshole gapes at Mr Morgenstern, the coffee gripped in his hand, and turns on his heel and storms out.

“Hopefully that’s the last we see of him,” Gerald mutters, and picks up the marker to serve the next person in line.

Mr Morgenstern grunts.

At close, Gerald finishes counting the register and records the day’s income.

“Hey, sir?” he asks. “Why’d you serve that guy, anyway?”

“What guy.”

“The asshole who wanted a black coffee.”

Mr Morgenstern doesn’t answer immediately; he finishes cleaning the machine until it glistens bronze again, and slings a towel over his shoulder and unties his apron.

“I’m not in the habit of making powerful enemies,” he replies. “The last person who crossed the Lady Archon’s father the wrong way ended up dead.”

Gerald pales. “Wait,” he says. “That guy – he was Doran Ó Seanáin?”

Mr Morgenstern clasps Gerald’s shoulder as he moves past. “No accounting for taste. You’ll lock up, won’t you?”

“Yes, but –”

Gerald feels himself start to sweat, remembering what he wrote on Lady Archon Grace Harrington’s father’s coffee cup. “Yes, but –”

Mr Morgenstern sweeps away, disappearing down into the basement before Gerald can demand more answers.

Gerald sighs and locks the door, and hopes the rumours about Doran Ó Seanáin's illiteracy are true.


End file.
